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@forfuse
independent private & selective rp blog for walter "fuse" fitzroy jr. of apex legends. canon adjacent, but mostly running on vibes with lots of verses available. read rules before interacting. interactions for this blog are strictly plot driven! written by billy / seth / joe. (24. mexican. he + they)
affiliated with: @forsalvo @ladygrcy
links: rules. about. playlist. memes.
it was all his idea really. he's got this thing now called free time, and that means slacking off. walter considers himself to be friends with most of the relevant people who participate in the games, but rarely do they measure up with whatever he's got going on with @prkh. yeah. good mates. that's what he'll call this.
the sun is high and there's almost a crowd, it doesn't entirely piss him off as he's laying down on some beat up towel, swimsuit on chest exposed necklace and skin glistening almost, he hasn't gone into the water just yet. just drinking and catching the sun. it reminds him of a different time almost. his gaze turns to ramya who's distracted, staring off at some of the other people at the beach. he half catches himself staring and like well obviously, ramya isn't one to shy away from showing skin but this is. it's something else alright. ladies and gentlemen this is the first sign of trouble for walter fitzroy!
then, naturally, it is the perfect time to be annoying. good old fuse back at it. he presses the cold body of the can he's opening to ramya's exposed side. "oi." it's paired with a chuckle, half hoping to get a reacting out of it. "-what's with all th'starin' huh? regrettin' comin' along with old fusey, now?" he desperately wishes for the answer to be no. but he wouldn't blame her if it was.
like this for a beach theme starter
𖥻 *･⎁ ⭑ identification : @forfuse ᵎ i love a nice secret hideaway, don't you? prompt . * ˊ-
they're like two birds, perched in a flat - roofed nook above witt’s bar, naught but the company of stars and a couple beers between them. ramya's attentive stare studying her feet as they dangle over the side of the building, laces catching on the arid gusts that work their way through the city's structure like the copper traces of a circuit board : fighting off the pit in the stomach that forms when she looks too far down ( most definitely the work of her third 12.7%er of the evening, she's certain ).
silently does she scold herself you should be used to it by now, parekh. the surge that comes with everything looking so small and beneath you, familiarised by the initial fall from the games’ dropship with every passing season. god, she sounds like blisk.
she shakes it off and analyses the distant dunes. a part of her wonders if solace and the city reminds fitzroy of salvo - the deserts, the dry heat, scarcely decorated with green that enriches the sands between and makes it feel a little less lonely. the people, too, she can only imagine share a ruthless salvonian charm to what he might have once knew — a lawless bunch, unruly, with no lawmakers to have them answer for their discretions. in all truth, she’s a little afraid to ask. not for comforts sake, not in fear of coming across rude or invasive of wally’s past, but more so in trepidation of plaguing him and his reminiscences. speaking something into existence. besides, the gearhead’s sure : if even she can see solace as salvo’s estranged, liberated cousin, fuse is ten steps in front of her.
❝ s’all well and good, til someone else discovers it, no ? ❞ ramya looks to him, and it’s with a playful nudge of his arm that she offers him a wink, a jab at his own trademark, careful to steady her bottle as she shifts in her seat on the roofs edge. ❝ i can bugger off if y’like, forget i ever found you. leave you to whatever strange little thoughts you got crawling around in that gurt bonce of yours. ❞
fuse is getting old. older than he should be that's for sure. and with getting old comes all these thoughts, the worries and anxieties that do not get shaken off ( as much as fuse shakes the bottles, trying it get it to pop, half of the other time he's making sure the cap is on tight.) it's hard when all he wants is to keep going, stay in the fight and in the party just so he doesn't have to overthink it.
he is glad for the company, even more than most. fuse doesn't do well when he's alone, it's only recently now that he's had to do that dance. miserable, but you win some you loose some. the lands do remind him of what once was home, what couldn't be home because, well. it stopped. along with a whole bunch of other crap.
here you have it folks! a piece of walter fitzroy a peak behind the scenes. ramya has proven herself to not only be a freaking genius but also good company and fuse would be lying if he said there isn't some sort of kinship here. she reminds him of many things, and that's...well that's comforting.
she nudges his arm and it makes him smirk, the wink gets him and it draw a chuckle out of him. " trust ya' can keep a secret, mate." and he means that (that is the sincerity he is so deeply missing at times, fellas.) now a full laughter as he leans back. "nah, y'welcome here, glad it was you and not some joker." he takes a deep breath, his eye looks upon the horizon, the whirls of sand. and he's reminscing.
( sometimes he feels like he isn't allowed to and he shouldn't and isn't that the kicker?) "-strange little thoughts, eh? was thinking about how far m'good arm could throw a bottle from here. or maybe where's a prime spot for some good old 'xplosions." ah there it is, the lies, the facade, the mask is back on, folks! "-so really y'cant leave unless you wanna miss the gun show." he holds out his beer, tips it slightly. cheers. before he chugs it down.
thinking about fuse
The soft sound of the stranger awakening has Hound turning from from their task to check on him. They are a mystery clad in warrior’s clothing, layers of tan fabric that match the shade of the ground and dust adorning their body. The layered outfit is accessorized by bone that serves as makeshift armor. An animal skull partial obscures their head, although a dark red and silver braid sticks out the back.
One of few visible things about them are there arms since their outfit is sleeveless. Their arms are scarred, adorned in array of both animal and human inflicted injuries. Softly chuckling at his remark, their voice vibrates and echoes within their respirator as they remark, “if this were a dream you would be in less pain. You crashed your ship in the desert. You are lucky I got to you before the sand worms did.”
so alright this feels a little cheesy. getting saved and hospitality by complete strangers isn't something fuse is familiar with. you keep the ones you know close to you and you hope they don't kick the bucket as soon as they leave your sight. just the way things are in salvo.
"bloody sand worms, lucky me." walter's brain is fuzzy. he should be feeling more paranoid, landing on the wrong side of the line, falling into the wrong hands. he's thinking about mags too, too brash, too impulsive, biting more than he can chew and choking on it. he must be on something, he isn't thinking straight. "huh?" it gives him pause, he is sure he hasn't been here before and that is slightly off putting.
he gathers some strength to talk. "-y'do a lot of savin' around these parts?" playing the question game, just trying to figure it all out...he owes it to them, this stranger. he doesn't like owing anything, he doesn't like to be in somebody else's hands like this. immediately distrustful. even as his eyes meet the other, the scarring of their arms, the vibration of their voice. he wants to make sure that he is actually being saved before he says anything else.
saw a fanart and i enjoy the idea of thinking a little more deeply about how fuse's arm works and how it is probably attached to his brain in a technical mechanical sort of way and that needs up keep...
Thread / scenario idea: The AU in which Hound's people live in the most desolate parts of the deserts of Salvo. Walter has to flee from a fight he's not winning and crashes a ship in the worst place to crash one. Hound saves his life by carrying him back home and nursing him back to health >:)
walter is best under pressure. many have said this. in this precise moment he isn't too sure about it. ship crashed, head pounding. and it doesn't feel like he's in the ship where he was supposed to be. his body hurts and he recognizes that, what he doesn't recognize is everything else. there's someone else in the room, he can see them moving. everything is a blur still, he can't focus on anything.
"oi." it's raspy, like he hasn't used his voice in a while. busts out the winning smile. whoever it is, walter feels out of place. he doesn't trust anyone that isn't maggie, but he isn't fucking dead. lucky that. so, this is all he has. "-am i dreamin'?" he feels fuzzy at the edges, the pain not sharp enough to snap him back into himself in the way he is used to.
chomps right into his shoulder
it's almost a howl, the closest thing to it. shivers from the bottom of his spine all the way to the top, it's electric, all the things necessary for the perfect explosion. he doesn't push her off, his hands tighten around her arms, just something to hold onto.
he giggles then, a sound marked by the movement of his head. "feelin' feisty, mags?" it's breathless, he can't think straight with the teeth sinked into his skin. he can't think straight with maggie in the same room as him. he's done for practically fucking toasted.
[ 23. ] sender playfully steals something from receiver, initiating a chase. "come and get it, then." /from fuse
SHE'D BEEN DISTRACTED, PORING OVER A BATTLEMAP: that was how @forfuse got her, waiting for her focus to sharpen and solidify before he'd step in and blow it all up. it kept her on her toes, didn't it, didn't he - and she laughed when he snapped the grenade from her neck, shock into anger into reluctant joy. [ sometimes she thought he didn't take this seriously. that he was only doing it in the first place to appease her. but you didn't grow up in their corner of salvo without learning some pride in your country, and all she ever wanted was to keep their people safe. ]
" haere mai, you fuckin' munter, 'fore i kick your teeth in! " the wild grin splitting her face took the bite out of it, a little, but that was alright. they'd been playing this particular game for years, and as she uncurled her stiffened fingers from the table and prepared to give chase, she thought maybe it was time for a break after all.
walter does this thing were he knows just when maggie needs a break ( and there is no breaks in what they do, not in the real sense but all work and no play makes a walter fitzroy dull and while maggie could remain there, will probably be doing this forever he wants her to remember she isn't just this but so much more too. )
her smile could light up a room, her smile could detonate a thousand bombs, it's all a chain reaction one after the other after the other. and he giggles, gets a grin that matches hers. "maggie i'd like to see ya try." he tosses the grenade in his hand, up and down. fired up on figuring out the moment he would need to run. using the chairs and other tables as potential obstacles, away from the battlemap ( he didn't want to disturb that, scouts honor.)
it;s this back and forth electric thing, the moment she moved he would bolt, adrenaline is a hell of a drug. maggie is a hell of a drug, walter's oh so inclined to indulge all the time always. he moves then, heading for the door, hoping wishing that she catches up before then.
something that is kinda important to talk about is like the background of walter's decision to sell out. i have to specify that like he is wrong, he made a mistake like a huge massive one that had repercussions not only for him but for the rest of his home planet and what i wanna do with this + in this blog is explore him figuring out that and what to do next.
so, to start there's several things at play here:
fuse is old, older than most people get to be in salvo he's been fighting the good fight for most of his life and it's thanks to maggie that he is alive even.
fuse has issues that stem from a lack of self worth and a whole bunch of unadressed issues that have been going on for a long long long time, when he wanted to join the bonecage it's all to prove himself to the people who saw him as weak or less than (specifically his father)
fuse has always put maggie in front of every single decision he made, their relationship is complicated and extremely codependent and a lot of their issues went without talking, especially in his lack of freedom or agency and that only got worse over time.
fuse has tunnel vision, he did everything he could've done to get what he wanted, which was the spotlight, fame attention, he did the bonecage and reached the top and the ceiling was there. he wanted more and more.
so what happens from there, fuse gets what he perceives to be the golden ticket. the offer from the syndicate although i do not know the specifics of it had to be everything walter wanted like exactly what he wanted. joining the games felt like the natural next step and it needs to be said that he was never told how his image was going to be used in salvo. he also did not expect the conversation with maggie to go the way it did, to him maggie was home and if maggie didn't want him around that meant that salvo wasn't home anymore from that point on. fuse made the active choice to join the games and sell out, but he doesn't find out his active participation in propaganda until way later during a conversation with maggie.
none of these are an excuse for what he did, and none of these reasons absolve him from what he ended up causing but that's what is so interesting to me about this. because it is not an infallable deal from the syndicate and what will end up happening is that the moment that the syndicate doesn't let fuse just keep on doing whatever he wants they will loose him. even more so after the personal growth journey he goes in.
❝ i don't usually talk this much, it just feels easy to say stuff when you're listening. ❞ from bloodhound
the words do something to walter, spending time here in nature no huge sounds, nothing but a calm and peace that if it was with anyone else he would be itching out of his skin. but he doesn’t, something pulls at his heart. this quiet burning feeling, a friend. what a strange thing to have in this place, he’s been trying and trying and to see the little cracks, look real close everyone! walter firzroy is winning bloodhound over. he’s kicking rocks, the sun slowly setting. “that so? coulda fool me, had you down for a yapper.” it’s teasing, turns to look at them, a side to him that most won’t get to see. “it’s the walter effect, houndy. it’s the charming smile and th’pretty face.” he looks over the water, takes a breath. he feels it again. that thing sizzling like it wants to boil over, not overwhelming not uncomfortable just there. “-know that I’m always listenin’ to you, old fusey is a cool guy like that.” he waits and he waits and he doesn’t know if he can say it. it feels easy to me too, being with you.
like this to plot !! And I promise to write you a starter about it 💖
like this to plot !! And I promise to write you a starter about it 💖
MAGGIE KNEW JUST BY LOOKING AT HIM that something had gone very wrong. she could see bruises, fresh ones, and that wasn't uncommon but this was: split-open knuckles, white around the handle of his suitcase. rage built between her ribs, hot as it ever was, wishing with all of her that a scrap with walter senior could be practical or possible or smart.
but this time was different, somehow. she didn't know the story yet, didn't need to - he was here and hurt, far beyond what the lurid purples staining his skin would suggest. he needed her.
maggie took her best friend into her arms without pause or complaint. she cradled his head against her neck, gentle when she wanted to be rough, soft when she wanted to get angry. it wasn't a common posture for her but she could do it in a moment like this, when he was a hair's breadth from falling apart and she didn't have the words to make it better. she wondered if he would cry. she didn't think she could handle it if he did.
" get in, " she said eventually. she didn't mind if the neighbourhood saw them like this, here on her broken-down little stoop, but she thought he might. word travelled fast around here. " kia tere. get some ice on ya. " i love you. it's alright. i love you.
walter did not know he was holding his breath, he didn't know what he was waiting for until he was boneless in her arms. he simply stays there, gathering the strength not to break, not to split into a million pieces. he won't cry. not now. the fight in him winding down. he let's out a breath.
maggie's here. and things haven't all gone to shit. he can live, he can push on. when she invites him in, he is suddenly aware. feels eyes on him that aren't there. but maggie's here. and it's fine. it's fine. her touch soothing, her presence comforting. he follows her in. "m'hands are fucked." he says because he cannot contain the feelings in his chest, cared for, loved, it's all he's ever wanted. he listens in between the lines, what she doesn't say but what he believes she says. "-ya' gonna need a whole lotta ice, mags."
walter drops his suit case, familiar with the place. the pain pulsing and while he knows about it, close to it in ways he wish he wasn't. he's more hurt than he originally thought he was. used to it. he moves in and finds the nearest chair to sit on it, he thinks of curling in on himself, he tries to appear normal. that sort of boneless feeling haunting him still. what he does then is fixate on his knuckles being split open, bright and red. dried down slightly, a burn to them that felt thrilling, a burn that felt, freeing. and yet the rage and the fear didn't leave him completely. he guesses it never will. he's silent, he can't find the words, and usually that means. thank you, i've lost the plot. and i don't know what to do. i'm hurt.
[ WILLOW ] sender embraces receiver in a moment of extreme distress. (reciprocity go brr)
it's this heavy thing. and walter can't even put it into words. he'd seen it coming, a mile away. he couldn't do jack shit about it. his dad's words still ring somewhat true, he's a coward, he's a loser, why can't he be better? how can he not fight his own fights? he's pathetic, weak.
and it's sadness what he feels most, it's a deep pit at the center of himself. shaking, he planted a line set it down with the hope of a break, like he's underwater and he needs to come up for air. and maggie. well, maggie's here. holding him, he'd been strung up, line taut. this being the part where he breaks.
"fuck, mags." it's comes out breathy, between empty laughter. manic in a way he hasn't felt before. "-can't bloody believe it." and he talks, because if he talks then it means he's okay and if he's okay then it's fine. as if he didn't just pick the last fight with his dad. as if he didn't push and punch back for the first time, packed a bag up and left. "-fuckin' real messed up now, aye?" he hides on her neck. something so tender he couldn't even asked, glad she gave it anyway, so glad for her. walter wouldn't know where to be if it weren't for maggie. he's not thinking it all the way through just letting her see him like this, he's just doing it.
fuse's dad was (is?) a miner, this was his first contact with explosives, and while his dad focused on other aspects of mining and tried (very poorly and badly) to teach fuse about everything that involved the job, fuse hyperfixated on the explosives, how to use them how to operate them what made what blow up. he picked up on it, all after seeing his first big explosion.
